


Black Dog

by comegentlenight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canon Compliant, Comedy, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One-Sided Attraction, also not exactly self insert but not not self insert, not exactly a romance, sirius black is a dumbass who doesn't know how to act, touch starved sirius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comegentlenight/pseuds/comegentlenight
Summary: Sirius Black is on the run from Azkaban and its dementors, and due to unfortunate circumstances, must remain a dog. And so it comes to pass that on his way to save Harry, Sirius is taken in by an overly kind witch.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 145





	Black Dog

**Author's Note:**

> This has probably been written a dozen times over, but I've had this idea niggling in the back of my mind for a while now and I just have to get it out. This is for all intents and purposes an OC fanfiction, BUT, with the exception of a name, the original character has been left open ended in most aspects, including physical description, hogwarts house, and patronus, so that you may imagine her as you wish. I just don't like typing "y/n". This is mostly from the limited perspective of Sirius, with one little exception at the end.  
> Also, this isn't a songfic, but I got halfway through and realized it's just all around "It Will Come Back" by Hozier. Do with that information what you will.

Darkness. It was everything.

Everything he had known for years, stuck in that hellhole that sucked the life from him until he feared he had nothing left.

But now he did. And now, he ran.

In truth, it had taken very little to get past the dementors. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before- but then, before, he didn’t have a reason. And now that reason was in danger of being betrayed by the same man who had put him in prison all those years ago, that had betrayed his best friend. 

Gods, how he loathed Pettigrew.

Swimming wasn’t exactly easy when you were a dog. But, it helped that your behavior could be so primal that you didn’t think too much about it when you sank your teeth into the plush coat of a rat, all but swallowing it whole in your hunger.

 _Rat. Teeth._ Mm, yes. A welcome thought.

Walking, walking. _Padfoot_. Interesting that his resolve was so strong that it could battle the fatigue in his limbs.

And then, when he entered the muggle village perhaps twelve miles from the sea, nobody seemed to notice the large black dog skulking through the shadows, searching for a hole to crawl into. They would search here first. He had to remain, for now, inhuman.

~~~

The rain and the chill hit harder when they drew near. 

He knew this. He waited.

He hid behind the tin barrels beside a crooked townhouse, scaring away the alley cats, he was sure. He didn’t mind it much. He thought of Harry. He thought of the sweet little boy he had held in his arms once, all those years ago, when they were happy. Well, relatively happy. When James and Lily were alive. When Peter hadn’t ratted them out.

Sirius snorted, the sound echoing off the stone walls around him. He could be glib when he wanted to be.

In the substanceless blue light of morning, barely breaking through the dreary cloud cover, Sirius could see silhouettes passing the end of the alley. He was content that he wouldn’t be found, and the dementors- if they didn’t catch on too quickly- would be seeking out the cadence of his human mind. It was the most he could hope for, now. It would be a miracle if he made it all the way to Harry.

A scuffle, a footfall lilting off the walls of the alley met his ears. He lifted his head to look in the direction of the sound.

A woman. He gawked.

He hadn’t seen a woman in the flesh in years. It was a refreshing reprieve from the vacuous black and white moving images of the Daily Prophet. Though most of her was obscured by a combination of darkness and her shapeless overcoat, he appreciated the curve of her breast, the swell of her hips. Upon shivering at the intensity of the weather at hand, she drew her coat tightly around her body.

When he moved to continue watching her, his head knocked the lid from one of the rubbish bins beside him, landing to the ground with a cataclysmic clang. Panicked, he withdrew further into the darkness. 

_“Lumos.”_

_Of course I’d be found by a witch._ The bright light of the incantation formed blindingly in the dark. He averted his eyes for a moment, then turned back to look upon her face. 

_Exquisite_. She edged closer. He took in the supple cheeks, full lips, and lush eyelashes that cast shadows over her cheekbones. Her eyes sought him out, deep, piercing, and shrewd. 

She found him. He whined when he knew it. 

“Hello,” she whispered, cocking her head to the side. She held her wand closer to him, her brow furrowing at the state of him. “No, this won’t do. Luckily, I’m headed home. You can come with.”

It appeared he didn’t have another option. With a flick of her wrist, she fixed him with a levitation charm. As his feet were lifted from the pavement, a snarl ripped from his mouth and he scrabbled and scratched out of instinct to get back onto solid ground. _Leave me, woman, for Merlin’s sake-_

He was in the air. It was no use. He hung his head with a disenchanted grunt of ambivalence. When her arms caught him around the middle and clutched him to her chest, he pretended not to be pleased by the warmth of her body. The levitation charm still working at the weight of him- he was rather imposingly large, after all- she held him tightly against her and, with another flick of her wand, his stomach lurched. 

Apparition. Nasty business. He much preferred flying. Just as he began to feel as though he were being squeezed through a lead pipe, the air shifted and became all at once warmer and dryer. 

“Here we are,” she spoke, the vibrations of her voice rumbling against his black fur. “Home sweet home.”

He blinked. She had apparated them into the front room of what he only guessed to be a small cottage. The night still dark against the window, an ambient glow from a light above the kitchen stove just barely illuminated the room.

She flicked her wand. The lights came on, and she let him down. 

He had never seen so many plants in one room before, aside from the greenhouses at Hogwarts. _Hogwarts. Harry._ He shook his head, turning in a wide circle. Magical and non-magical plants of every shape, size and description lined the window sills, hearth, tables, even some stools. He could see more still peeking out from the kitchen beyond the small dining area. The home smelled earthy, a combination of each plant hitting his nostrils all at once. 

And then there was _her_. The girl stood before him, combing the moisture from her hair with her fingertips. She walked over to a potted plant on the front windowsill, and reached into her pocket. “Here you go, my lovely,” she crooned as she tipped the contents of a small potion bottle into the pot. The plant, which had been a sickly brown, sprung up vigorously and unfurled its lush limbs. One of the long leaves tipped forward and curled a lock of her hair around it affectionately. 

Sirius Black balked at the sight, sitting on this strange witch’s living room rug. _An Herbalist_. It was the only thing she could possibly be- not many magic folk kept mandrakes neatly potted in their front rooms. He watched as she drew her coat from her shoulders, revealing a plain white blouse and blue skirt. He suddenly had so many questions, all of which he would have to figure out the answers to himself, or never know them.

He sat serenely on his haunches, staring up at her as she turned to face him. Well, she had him now. Either she would figure him out- and that would probably be bad for everyone- or he would keep up the charade. He’d always been rather good at pretending to be an average dog; once, in sixth year, he had gotten injured in animagus form and couldn’t change back for a week. James had pretended he was just a stray dog he’d brought in from the dark forest. Nobody had been the wiser. 

_Then again, maybe everyone had known from the start and didn’t say anything._

The witch regarded him for a moment, then with a resolute smirk said, “You need a bath.”

 _Absolutely not_. Sirius scrambled up and clawed his way around the plush green couch and under the dark wood dining table, knocking a plant from its perch on one of the chairs. 

“For goodness’ sake,” she tutted and ducked down beside the dining table to get at him. He snarled spitefully and bolted out from beneath a chair on the opposite end, lurching into the kitchen and skidding across the tiled floor.

 _No ma’am, I am not going to be strongarmed into a bath._ He slammed into the wall beneath the kitchen windowsill, knocking yet another plant from it. The pot crashed to the ground, casting terra cotta bits and soil across the checkerboard tile. The witch pursued, yanking her wand from where she had dropped her coat on the couch. _Inhumane. How could this be your first priority?_

He scuttled clumsily into the hall, wheezing with the effort his weary limbs needed to function. _Please let there be a dog door. Let there be an open window._ Entering back into the front room via the hall, he leapt for the front window, willing to crash through it if he must. 

_“Arresto momentum!”_

The blue light hit him squarely in the chest. He plopped pathetically onto the green high backed armchair, a throw pillow falling to the ground. He let out a sigh of defeat. _Do what you will, witch. I won’t make it easy for you._

“Are you quite finished?”

_Not quite._

The witch again levitated him and, this time gathering him under her arm with a perturbed look on her face, carried him down the hallway, past the kitchen he had just upset, and into a small toilet. 

_Oh, that tub isn’t going to be big enough._ He could leap out of that tiny thing in a heartbeat. Surely she wouldn’t be so dull?

She placed him into the tub and pointed her wand at his paws. _“Fixus.”_

 _That does it._ His feet were fixed to the porcelain, preventing him from moving away. Oh, but the rest of him could move. 

She turned on the tap and placed her wand on a shelf beside her. “If you’re going to stay with me- which I don’t see why you shouldn’t, considering the alternative- you’ll at least have to be clean. You’re caked with mud.” Her twinkling voice carried with it warmth that he hadn’t heard or felt for years, quite like the rest of her. If he didn’t absolutely detest her at the moment, he would have been inclined to agree. 

But a pretty voice and face couldn’t soften him that easily. He glared at her as the water rose up his legs, and growled when she turned the shower head on and used it to wet his back. At the threatening noise, she looked him in the eye with an unamused expression. “Relax about it.”

He let out an indignant huff. He would not. 

When the spray of water touched his head, he shook off his entire body, flicking water all over the bathroom, all over her. She lurched back and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she focused on him with a cold glare. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

He bared his teeth in a sardonic grimace. _Yeah, no shit._

She narrowed her eyes, cocking her head to the side again, this time in a more challenging way. “Okay,” she purred out tauntingly. He knew that tone. _Two can play at this game._

The water from the spray hit him in the face. In true dog-like fashion, he snarled and tried to catch it in his mouth. The throwing of his head covered her in more droplets of water. Her hair dripped, and she wiped at her face with her hand. “Thus we see why I prefer plants,” she muttered to herself, then stood to reach for a towel. 

He grunted. _The lady doth protest too much, methinks._ Seeing his chance, he threw his head forward and knocked it hard against her knee, making her crumble down suddenly with a yelp. She toppled over the side of the tub and into the water, just barely missing where his feet were magically stuck to the floor. 

She floundered about for a moment, spewing water across the tile floor. When she pushed herself up into a sitting position, her legs sticking out over the rim of the tub, her white blouse gone sheer from the water and her skirt bunched around her hips, she mumbled a long line of creamy curse words. “Are you _serious?”_

 _Well, yes._ He laughed, the sound coming out deep and guttural, like a juddering growl. She turned quickly to look him in the eye, and he stopped suddenly, remembering himself. Her eyes said it all. At the expression on her face, a chilling fear crept in. 

He waited for it. The whisper of _Homenum Revelio,_ the stretching of his limbs, the terror on her face when his true form was revealed to her. Would she kill him herself? Would she call the Ministry, Azkaban? The charade was up, and it had barely started. 

To his surprise, she simply slid out of the tub with a watery swoosh, dripping puddles onto the tile floor. If her wet clothes bothered her, she didn’t show it. 

“Hold still,” she said, but her voice tipped up at the end, as though it were a question rather than a command. So he did, as she washed the filth of the forest and the prison from his fur. 

It wasn’t going to last. He had a very long way to go on his journey, and his animagus state didn’t affect the cleanliness of his person. He’d still look like hell when he turned back. But for now it was enough to satisfy her. 

And, at any rate, a home with heating and soft furnishings was much better than an alleyway, even if he was only staying for one night. 

~~~

He slept on the forest green rug in front of the hearth and woke midday to find the house empty, save for himself and the plants. Still, he dared not change his form. Not until he knew exactly where he was, and how close the dementors would be. Furthermore, he had to get to Harry as soon as possible. Time was running out, and school would begin. 

He took to exploring the house and found that the girl had left a dish of cooked, cold steak on the floor. If she didn’t care for dog food, he was glad of it. He ate the steak very nearly in one bite. Then, he meandered around through the potted plants, some of which he recognized and some he didn’t. Her indoor garden, as it seemed to be, was impeccably kept. The full grown mandrake in the corner wiggled exuberantly, and the lively plant she had administered the potion to waved its limbs in contentment. Upon closer inspection it appeared, to his surprise, to be a sapling whomping willow, no bigger than a shrub. It reminded him of where he ought to be. 

He turned away and hopped onto a rickety chair at the dining table to see the table top. It was scratched to oblivion and obviously hadn’t been polished in years. It was, for lack of a better term, a catch-all; a shrubbery filled with culinary herbs sat at one end, the other two seats blocked by heaps of mail and paperwork. And, at the very head of the table, nearest the kitchen, an old muggle typewriter sat with a page sticking up from its bar. He leaned in to see what she had been writing. 

_Red Poppy - Papaver Rhoeas - for potency in sleeping draughts. The oil is to be extracted and used to instill peace, tranquility, sleep, and when brewed properly and with the right ingredients, invisibility._

A quick glance at a few nearby sheets provided more of the same. She appeared to be writing a book of Herbology, either for personal use or, more likely, to be published as a practical guide. He found himself smiling, even if he could only afford a grimace. She clearly cared strongly for her plants; with a short glance behind him, he saw she had not only cleaned the mess he had made in the kitchen, but had restored the little herb sprig to its former liveliness and had placed it back on the windowsill. It seemed she had a great deal of compassion for many helpless things. 

And then his eyes fell to the stacks of mail. Yes, that was what he needed to know. Where was he? How far had she brought him in his quest? He nudged a letter off a stack with his snout and it fell face up before him. 

_Karina Brackenbury of 108 East Raven Lane, Abinger Hammer, Surrey_

His breath came out so suddenly he nearly snorted. He dove off the dining chair and, overcome with a sense of victory he hadn’t known in years, ran around the couch once, twice, three times. _She brought me here, within an arm’s reach of him!_ He could see Harry tonight, if he wished. If he could find a way out. 

He stopped, glancing at the front room window. The sun had waned on a decent amount and, he assumed, it would take time to find the place- _what was it? Privet Drive? Little Whinging?_ \- leaving him with likely little to no daylight left. _But that was okay, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t want to scare the boy, just make sure he was safe._

A movement caught his eye. _Surely not …_ Sirius made his way to the window. The curtain fluttered. He leapt onto the armchair he had so gracefully fallen upon earlier, and nosed the fabric aside. 

_Amazing._ The girl, the witch- _Karina, was it?_ \- had left the window ajar. Not too much, but just enough. He fitted his snout into the gap and lifted the window, sliding it up with ease. _Too easy. She did this on purpose._

Was it trust? Did she believe he was tame enough to come back? Or was it hopefulness that he’d escape and not return to ruin more of her plants? _Or something else._ Ah, yes. The look in her eye when he’d let himself behave too humanly still irked the back of his mind. Perhaps she meant to test him. But the question was, what was the correct answer to this particular test?

At that moment, he couldn’t be bothered with tests. The sun continued its journey toward the horizon. He squeezed through the window and into the mid-july heat. 

~~~

It had been dark for quite some time when he returned. He was exuberant, ecstatic; he’d seen Harry. Harry seemed to be doing well, all things considered. He was leaving his aunt and uncle’s- he couldn’t blame Harry for that, of course- but as the Night Bus had arrived, Sirius felt Harry knew what to do with himself. So Sirius had made his way quickly back to Abinger Hammer. 

He wasn’t sure why he had come back to the cottage, but the Tudor style facade welcomed him with open arms, despite his reservations. He stood on the doorstep and, seeing as the front window had been closed, howled. 

No response. He waited a moment more, then howled again. _Is she not home?_ Then, at last, the door unlocked and swung open of its own accord. He padded inside and stalked around the side of the couch as the door swung shut. There, seated with her legs stretched across the cushions, Karina held her wand aloft, a small book in her other hand. 

He paused, staring up at her. She was swaddled in a heavy, rather ghastly dressing robe with a multicolored zigzag print, her hair apparently freshly washed. After she heard the door shut and lock, she lowered the wand to rest on her lap and flicked her eyes to him briefly. 

He didn’t like the glint in them. 

“You came back,” she mused ruefully, flipping the page of her book. 

What was he to do? _Bark?_ He remained quiet, testing the water. 

Another beat. Her eyes glanced to him again, curious, but the flame of suspicion dying. She tapped her foot against the cushion of the couch. “Are you going to sit there all night?”

 _I’ll do you one better, witch_. He hopped onto the couch and nudged himself forward almost forcefully as she pulled her arms back from him in surprise, then plopped his head down at the base of her stomach and let the rest of his body crush with his full weight against her extended legs. 

After a moment’s shock, she laughed. He closed his eyes and felt the vibration carry through his bones. He hadn’t made anyone laugh in what felt like a century. It was almost as good as laughing himself. 

Her hand gently fell to his head and stroked through the black fur behind his ear. He could have melted at her touch; so long had it been since he had been touched, by anyone, even if just in anger. It had been a moment of such normality and comfort that he had very nearly forgotten that he was, in fact, a dog- with a start, he opened his eyes and blinked up at her as she scratched behind his ear. 

“What do I call you?” She murmured, almost to herself, as she stroked the fur on his head, down to his neck, and back. 

_You can call me anything you want, you wonderful creature._ He blinked, heaving a sigh out his nose and letting his head fall back down against the plush fabric of her dressing robe. 

She remained silent for another moment, just regarding him and stroking his head. She had dropped the book to her side and rested her other hand against his shoulder blade. He squinted to read the rather lengthy title as it lay upside down beside his head. _Diuers Chimicall- Concluſions concerning the Art of Diſtillation. With many rare practiſes and vſes thereof, according to the Authors own experience._

Merlin’s beard, he was going to get a migraine. Was the entire text like that? Did she read this for fun? He figured he may never understand her choice in reading material, but he found it hard to focus on it too long when her fingers soothed his aching head. 

The wood of her wand nudged his chin, and he pulled back just slightly to examine it. Colored the distinct light gold of dogwood, it was short and slim, fitted with a large peridot on the end and came forward with a ridged handle, then tapered to a point in a helix spiral. It was truly a remarkable work of craftsmanship. He wondered briefly what Hogwarts house she had been in. 

He closed his eyes. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was her soft touch against his skull. He hoped she knew the comfort it brought him. 

“I think I’ll wait for you to tell me,” he heard her mumble to him. 

_Tell you what?_ Oh, what she should call him. That didn’t matter, either. _Perhaps I could…?_ No, it was impossible. She was of the wizarding world, of course she would know the _foul, loathsome things_ Sirius Black had done. But then, of course, what had she meant by ‘tell her’? He became ever more anxious that she knew he was not what he seemed. 

She yawned. He sighed. If she knew, he didn’t care. 

He fell asleep like that, held by her in her lap. At the still of her hand on his back, he figured she had done the same. 

~~~

It was, of course, the small things that endeared her to him. 

Like, for example, he loved it when she dictated her Herbology book. She had bewitched the muggle typewriter to type what she spoke, much like a quick-quotes-quill without the infernal flourishing. He found a strange sense of peace and contentment as he lay on the green rug of her living room in a patch of sunlight, watching her as she stood serenely in the kitchen wearing a mauve slip and flannel shirt, her hair tied back in two braids, poring over a strange metal contraption she had assembled through many contrived splutterings. 

“The lavender is crushed by the side of the blade for potency, and added in a one-to-two ratio to the water,” she narrated as she did so, pouring crushed lavender into a glass urn and filling it the rest of the way with liquid. The house filled with an increasingly tranquil aroma. “The heat from the flame will boil off much of the water, and what will remain will be concentrated extract of lavender, to be bottled and used in calming draughts.”

Karina, he assumed, was muggle-born. She seemed quite content to use muggle technology, with her house an eclectic museum of muggle and magical artifacts alike. She had several of the average moving paintings displayed on her wall- one of which being a portrait of Professor Dumbledore, he noticed- just beside framed muggle photographs of what appeared to be her family, and she a small child in many of them. 

She kept odd hours, waking some days in the mid afternoon, other days in the very early morning. Her sleep schedule was erratic at best. She once fell asleep on the armchair by the front window after downing a glass of firewhiskey, and he had very nearly slobbered on her face trying to rouse her to get her to bed. Instead, she collapsed on the couch and slept the entire next day. And, the day after that, she worked well past midnight on what appeared to be the calming draught for which the lavender essence was extracted. It was admittedly alarming, but amusing all the same. 

Then, there was the way she would entertain herself when she wasn’t working, or out on errands. The morning after they fell asleep together on the couch, he woke to find her watching the sunrise from her kitchen window, her dressing robe slipping off one shoulder to reveal the black tank top she wore underneath. She danced in the golden light of morning, singing along to muggle music from the radio while she prepared breakfast. 

_“Stars, and steel guitars, and luscious lips as red as wine,”_ she sang as she flipped her bacon with a set of tongs. _“Broke somebody’s heart, and I’m afraid that it was mine.”_

An owl fluttered by the open front window, dropped the daily mail on the armchair, and retreated. Sirius, wanting only to appear useful, carried the mail to her in the kitchen. 

She thanked him sweetly and took the papers from his maw, flipping through them in disinterest as she simultaneously killed the fire on the stove. She unfolded the front page of the Daily Prophet, and froze. 

_Have you seen this wizard?_ That ugly mugshot, taken just after his incarceration 12 years before, fumed at her from the front page. He looked like a madman. At that time, he had been a madman. Her brow furrowed as she leaned forward, holding the counter to steady her balance while she read. 

He didn’t need to read the article to know the putrid slime it spewed in lieu of truth. He merely watched her face, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She looked down to him, seated at her feet with a vacant look on his face. She stared at him for an inordinate amount of time. She looked back to the paper, the mugshot. She looked to him again. 

She knew. 

Of course she knew, there was no doubt. She was incredibly intelligent; she must have known she had found him in the nearest muggle town to Azkaban prison, she knew from the start he was no ordinary dog. 

He wondered what exactly her conclusion was. Had he been transfigured? Bewitched? Or did she truly believe him to be an unregistered animagus? Again, he waited for her to pull out her wand, to reveal his true form. She didn’t. 

Instead, she looked him in the eye, and tossed the Daily Prophet into the sink. She pulled out her wand, the dogwood crackling with anticipation, and said, _“Incendio.”_

The blaze was intense, resolute. The paper went up immediately, the flames flickering up out of the aluminum basin of the sink with such fervor that he backed away from the heat of it. She turned away from the fire in the sink and went on cooking her breakfast as it died down on its own. 

She always gave him a portion of whatever she was eating that day. She never brought him a can of dog food. 

Thus were the reasons that Sirius found himself, time and time again, coming back to her after leaving through the window she left open for him. 

~~~

Two weeks passed. Each day he reminded himself he needed to get to Hogwarts, to end Peter, to save Harry. And each day Karina would caress his head fondly, would slip him a plate of lamb chops, would allow him to lay across her lap as she read, and he would forget. 

It was on one such occasion that a thunderstorm raged outside. Early September didn’t often have much in the way of rain, but this storm thrashed the house violently, rattling the windows and chilling the air. Karina, for her part, seemed to enjoy it. The house was lit with candles, dimly illuminating the greenery, warming the air comfortably. 

And then, like a breath rushed through the house, the candles all blew out at once. Sirius leapt up at attention, feeling the difference in the air. _It couldn’t be. Not here_. 

A ghostly whisper sounded just beyond the front door. Lightning flashed, just briefly revealing the shape of a cloaked figure outside the front window. 

Karina saw it. She grabbed her wand, shaking, and scrambled off the couch, away from the front room, down the hallway. Sirius followed on her heels as she ran, back past the bathroom, into the darkness of her bedroom. 

He hadn’t been into her bedroom. It was the one place in the house he didn’t go, nor cared to. Indeed, he had been curious, especially when left alone in the house, but it seemed to him too much like an invasion of her privacy. It was no longer. She pushed the door open, allowing him in before shutting the door fast and rushing across the room, into the closet. 

Without thinking, he followed. She closed the door, sat back against the wall, and pulled him into her arms without a word. 

Silence. He felt her breathing hard, shaking, clutching her wand in her fist as it rested against his fur, her arms wrapped around his middle. He regretted that he couldn’t change, couldn’t hold her instead. He’d had enough experience with these creatures to know their torment; he doubted she had ever. 

They heard it at the same time. The whispering, rattling breath from the front room. The dementors had entered the house. 

She whimpered against him, clutching him hard. She seemed to be trying to steady her breathing. He nuzzled her face- what he assumed to be her face- and touched his forehead against her temple. Her breath steadied. She rubbed his back. 

The door of the bedroom opened. The ghostly breathing, almost like a growl, floated through the room just beyond the closet door. He felt her lift her wand, pointing it directly at the door. 

The doorknob turned. He licked her cheek, once, twice. 

_“Expecto patronum!”_

He saw a flash of white, and turned to watch the cloaked figure of a dementor retreating hastily, blinded by the strong white light of the patronus charm. The dementor flitted about the room before stealing out and away, back in the direction that it came from, followed closely behind by the form of her patronus. 

She dropped her hand and sobbed, tucking her face against the fur on his neck. He nuzzled her affectionately, once again wishing that he could hold her, for the first time wishing that he could kiss her.

At length she moved away, shuffling to get onto her feet. Shakily, she stepped into the bedroom and, after untying her dressing robe, she dropped it to the floor and crawled miserably onto the bed.

Her quilt was mussed, having left the bed unkempt that morning. She didn’t move under the covers. She lay on her side in her camisole and pants, curled into herself, and began to cry. 

Sirius stood at the end of the bed, gazing up at her, wondering what he could do. There was nothing, save for trying to tuck her in himself with his limited mobility. At any rate, she was on top of the quilt; he wouldn’t simply be able to pull it over her. 

Forgetting himself, he crawled onto the bed after her and lay on his stomach beside her, his head just barely touching hers. And she moved, bringing her arms around him, this time curling into him. 

She cried. He wondered what for; for the fright of what happened, or for an unhappy memory the evil things had brought forth? It was difficult for him to imagine she would have anything so unhappy in her past that the dementors could take her to pieces. 

Again, like many things to do with Karina, he found it didn’t matter. She sobbed, she held onto him. He wished he could hold her back. They remained like this until her breathing slowed, and she fell asleep. 

She still slept when he roused in the morning and slipped from her grasp, left the bedroom, and paced in the front room.

He had to leave, of that he was certain. If the evening before had proven anything, it was that his presence was a liability to her. And what was more, school had already begun. He had forgotten his reason for escaping prison in the first place. He had to kill Peter, before Peter killed Harry.

His eyes fell on the typewriter at the table.

He supposed he could afford one last lapse in judgement, for her sake.

~~~

Karina woke, ungraciously stiff and sore, but tucked almost unnaturally under the covers of her bed. Beside her wand, on the bedside table, a wrapped bar of chocolate lay in wait.

She dully grabbed the chocolate, not thinking much of it. After the events of the night, she didn’t think it would be wrong to skip breakfast for a bar of chocolate instead. She didn’t feel much like cooking, anyhow. She just hoped the dog didn’t mind leftovers.

 _That dog._ He absolutely was not a dog. She just wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to face what he actually was.

Well, she knew, of course. She’d had an inkling all along, and last night had pretty much proven her right. She could have checked at any time, could have used a wandless casting of _Homenum Revelio,_ could have seen for herself. She didn’t want to. For some reason, it just didn’t seem right. At first, she had only wanted to see how far he would go before giving it up. Then, after enough time had passed, she realized he wasn’t going to, and she left it at that. After all, he hadn’t tried to kill her yet.

If Sirius Black wanted to lodge with her and keep up his ruse, she had plenty of spare food to go around.

She wandered into the kitchen, her feet carrying her there without her even really thinking of it. She was so emotionally spent she wondered if she’d be able to get any work done. She wondered how he was feeling, knowing everything he had been through. 

She took another bite of chocolate, and stared at her kettle in disdain. She didn’t have the patience to even boil water.

She walked into the dining room, chewing thoughtfully on the chocolate, and sat down at her seat at the head of the table. She rolled her head back, feeling an ungodly pop at the base of it. She hadn’t been so stiff in a while. After a moment's meditation, her eyes focused on the typewriter, plucking up the gumption to put in an hour or two of work at the very least.

Her eyes scanned the paper sticking up from it, and she realized the text was much shorter and choppy than she remembered having written the day previously. She leaned forward, her bleary eyes adjusting through the haze of fatigue, and she read.

_Karina,_

_The events of the night have unsettled me, and thus it only serves to bring me to my senses. You are more dear to me than you may ever know, more than I could have imagined when you found me in that alley. That your first thought was to bring me here, to your home, astounds me, as my presence can only be a danger to you._

_I must leave you, and for that I apologize. Perhaps I should also apologize for staying so long. Or for coming back that first night. It would have saved you a great deal of trouble, I’m sure. I thank you greatly for your hospitality._

_I will never forget your laughter, your smile, your voice, your compassion, and your soft touch. In short, I will never forget you. Perhaps we will meet again some day, in better circumstances, and in my case, better appearances._

_Yours Truly,_

_Sirius Black (Dog)_

_P.S. Eat the chocolate. You’ll feel much better._

Karina crossed her legs, smiled, and took a bite of the chocolate.

She knew it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot, but if it does well and I get enough harassment about it, I may be inclined to write a second part. Let me know.


End file.
